Behind Closed Doors
by Natsumiya Teirin
Summary: Left to fend for themselves in the streets of 19th century London, the Potters are destitue. Wanting only his parents' happiness, Harry takes up work at the Riddle manor and finds himself mixed up in a dreadful game of love and politics, all centering around the Riddle brothers. Tom x Harry x Voldemort. Rated M to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

_February 18, 1842_

 _Dearest father and beloved mother,_

 _I apologize for being unable to visit in so long, but I have fantastic news!_

 _Today marks the end of our poverty! I shall visit tonight and inform you both of what has transpired then._

 _Fondest regards, your son,_

 _Hadrian James Potter_

Lily Potter smiled fondly as she read her son's letter. Then she returned to the stove. There wasn't much time before nightfall, and all she knew was that Harry was coming sometime then. Her husband James was working at the inn as a stable-hand, but he'd promised to be back shortly.

And Harry was out doing who knew what at who knew where.

And then the curtain that served as the doorway to their humble shack was parted open, and Lily's worries perished.

"Harry! My son!" She left her spoon in the pot and rushed to embrace her boy.

"Mum! I've missed you terribly!"

His green eyes were almost as bright as they had been when he'd left them, and he still hid that scar. His hair was still as wild and unkempt as ever, made even more so as Lily affectionately ruffled it.

"Is dad home?"

"Not yet. He will be soon. And then you can tell us all about your recent adventures," said Lily as she returned to the stove.

"I made your favorite for supper- cabbage soup and mashed potatoes."

Harry frowned. They'd been forced to eat cabbage and potatoes every night since he was five years of age, when they'd been robbed of their wealth. He had gotten used to it, of course, but that didn't mean he liked it.

He laughed dryly.

"Wonderful, mum," and brought out a parcel from his black cloak.

"Perhaps we could enjoy a gift from my master, as well."

His eyes twinkled merrily as Lily turned off the stove.

"That would be wonderful, dear. Now, could you set the table? Your father will be home any minute."

Harry did as he was asked and set the table. Though "table" is hardly an accurate word for it. What they used as a table was nothing more than a slab of wood supported by a chair that'd lost its upper-left and lower-right legs. And what they'd used for dishes were cracked and chipped clay things, barely useable at all. And they had nothing in the way of eating utensils, and so resorted to dining with their hands.

Oftentimes, this caused the Potter family to grieve- albeit momentarily- the loss of their fortune to the Riddle family.

But before either Harry or Lily could start talking of that, the curtain opened again, and Harry found himself in a strong hold.

"Harry, my boy! How long _has_ it been? A year? You've certainly grown- 16 now!"

Harry turned to return his father's embrace.

"Dad! Don't be silly! It's only been a couple of weeks! And putting that aside, I have wonderful news!"

Mr. and Mrs. Potter eyed their son- their darling son- with curiosity.

"Mum. Dad. I have a job now. I started last week. Now, we won't go hungry anymore! We can finally live as normal people ought!"

His green eyes were alight with pride, happiness, and excitement, and Lily and James were beaming.

"Oh Harry! That's wonderful!" Lily exclaimed.

"Positively fantastic! But, do tell, for whom are you working for?"

At his father's question, Harry's smile grew somber.

"….I am a servant to Lord Tom Marvolo Riddle and his brother Voldemort Thomas Riddle."

Of course, Harry had expected the shocked gasps and the stunned silence that followed. But he hadn't expected his parents to look so…happy.

"Oh Harry, this is wonderful!"

"Yes! An opportunity to earn back our family fortune!"

And Harry smiled, as that is exactly what he'd intended, and began unwrapping the parcel Tom had given him before his departure.

Within was a bottle of fine red wine and an assortment of sweets- many of which he recalled seeing in the expensive shops surrounding the Riddle manor.

Lily went to the storage cupboard and brought out three wineglasses- the things she'd absolutely refused to part with, since they were gifts from her beloved sister.

James poured the wine- carefully, sparingly, so as not to waste even a single drop- and Harry rationed out the food, using the worn cooking spoon that had been left in the pot.

And so, the Potter family ate and drank, and enjoyed the sweets soon after, all the while thanking their good fortune.


	2. Chapter 2

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.

The Riddle manor was not small, by any means. Yet, it was rather simplistic- as far as wealthy homes went, anyway- as the head of house had no desire to spend his fortune frivolously.

That simplicity was perhaps the only personality in the place, with the most personal room being the study.

The interior of the manor was dark, and the darkest, second to only the cellar, was the study.

It was the only windowless room in the house (the cellar was technically under the house, and so, didn't count as "in the house") and everything within was decorated and or painted with dark colors. Deep violet to forest green to blood red.

Any and all wooden objects in the room were hand-made of dark mahogany wood, and bore little, if any, elaborate designs- the one exception being the writing desk, which had the Riddle coat of arms carved deeply into the sides.

And sitting at this desk, illuminated only by the dim light of the candle in the corner, was the head of the Riddle family.

Tom Marvolo Riddle wasn't doing anything terribly significant. Simply doing his taxes- because what a scandal it would cause if someone else did those and robbed him blind!

There was a knock at the door. Four soft knocks, as he'd instructed his newest servant to use.

Potter. An open book, that one. Not that Tom minded. Honest people held nothing from him.

"Enter."

The door opened with nary a creak, and Tom smiled as the scent of hot cocoa entered his nostrils.

"Your cocoa, sir, exactly as you requested."

Potter's voice was that of a soft baritone- lacking both the depth of a bass and the borderline nasal quality of the tenor.

His was a voice that was naturally soothing to his privileged ears.

And his footsteps, light even considering the dark green carpeting of his study against the soles of the black dress shoes he undoubtedly wore as he brought the steaming mug to his desk, were feathery light. Tom almost didn't hear him.

"Thank you, Harry."

The boy- yes, still a boy, even if his age and posture said otherwise to society- seemed surprised at the use of his first name- nay, his _nickname_ (which was only used by those closest to him), but Tom simply smiled charmingly, and Harry's surprise vanished.

For a master to address a servant by his first name meant that servant was worth respecting. But a master would need to be especially inclined to a servant to use his nickname.

Harry stayed put- a good thing, since Tom hadn't dismissed him (that showed obedience, and that was exactly what he preferred in his servants)- and Tom leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back so dark eyes stared up into beautiful emeralds.

"….You have earned yourself a promotion. As of Monday, you shall be my personal attendant. Now, you may go. Spend till Monday with your kin. I have seen to it that a gift for them be left in the kitchens."

Harry smiled- a dazzling smile that Tom had once thought only aristocrats could possess, but had learned even his favorite servant could hold- and bowed.

"Thank you, sir. God bless you. I wish that the next three days find you in good health."

His voice was joyous and Tom was pleased. And then Harry left, his steps just a small bit lighter, and only when he was gone did Tom allow his smile to drop.

He had planned this two months ago- exactly a week after Harry had began working for him, and three days after the boy had begun asking questions about Voldemort.

Yes, this was by far the best for both of them. He could keep Harry safe from his deranged older brother, Harry would earn more for his family, and would be safe.

And he would belong solely to _him._

Not the other members of his brood, and certainly not Voldemort.

Him.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

.

.

 _XXxxXX_

Hadrian James Potter entered the little shack at the base of the hill his family called home. Since last he'd been there, there had been some changes- the most notable of which was a tiny garden of vegetables. Not enough to make a profit with, but enough to keep them fed through the winter.

Harry's lips curved upwards into a small smile as he consciously felt the weight of Lord Riddle's gift against his cloak.

He entered the humble shack, not surprised to find his parents asleep. It was past nightfall, after all.

Harry smiled as he caught sight of his mother and father, asleep together on the ratty old cot they'd always had, their arms leaving enough space between them for Harry to sleep with them, as he had when he was young.

The boy gently set his package on the table and shed his cloak, then crawled into the cot, nestling himself safely between his dear, dear parents.

He was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

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.

It could have been pity. But more likely, he had an ulterior motive. Regardless of his reasons for it, Voldemort Thomas Riddle was thankful that dear old Tommy pulled him out of Rutledge. That Alice girl was sure to speed up his mental deterioration.

For now, though, he'd decided to take the time to change himself. He'd already gained some semblance of sanity.

Enough to hear and recognize the high baritone voice that brought him his tea every day.

Hadrian James Potter.

The boy probably didn't remember him. But that worked in his favor.

Voldemort remembered all too well what he'd done to the boy, and now that they were both older, he regretted it.

Magic? Absurd. What a fool he was to believe that…

But that was then and this is now.

Perhaps it was regret. Perhaps it was the hope for redemption. But whatever the case, he found himself always enjoying it when that person- whom he could only hear but never see- came to visit.

His voice was always a comfort to listen to- nothing like that hag Bellatrix.

Or that stupid house-elf.

There was a gentle clatter as a teacup was set beside him.

"Earl Grey, My Lord. Black, as requested."

Gentle hands took his own and guided them around the handle of the cup, and Voldemort smiled.

"You have done well, Hadrian. Perhaps the Dementors would spare your soul, and I might one day see it."

The small hands stiffened.

"ah..yes…however, My Lord, your brother…"

Black became red for a split second.

"Yesss," he hissed, just a bit harsher than he'd intended.

"What about him?"

He could sense the hesitation in the boy's voice.

"He….I've…he has given to me the role of his personal attendant. I'm afraid I may not be able to see you after Monday."

Voldemort frowned.

"…No."

"I…beg your pardon?"

"I won't allow it! _I'm_ the elder! You should be serving _me_!"

Harry gasped as the teacup fell and shattered on the plush carpet. Pale, scarred hands clasped his own, and even though Harry knew his master's older brother was blind, he felt as if those clouded red eyes were staring into his very soul.

"Promise me! Take the Unbreakable Oath that you won't ever betray me for him! Take it! Swear on your grave! Do it now!"

Scared, Harry struggled against the hands that held him and somehow slipped out. Then, once free, he ran out of the room and out of the manor, almost forgetting to grab Tom's gift on the way.

.

.

 _ **XXxxXX**_

The next morning, Harry pretended nothing had happened. Pretended that he hadn't just been privy to one of his masters' fits, and that he wasn't scared to death.

"G'morning Harry," greeted James, being the second to rise after his son, as always.

"Didn' 'ear you come in…c'mon. Let's check on the gard'n tog'ther."

His speech was slurred and ineloquent, but Harry knew that was just because he was tired.

"Of course, dad."

They left the house and went to the vegetable patch in front of it. Nothing was ready to harvest quite yet, but Harry knew that they could last until the harvest. Tom had been generous as of late, his latest gift being three large cuts of dried meat and an assortment of nuts and beans. Protein-rich foods that the Potters had lacked- not that _he_ had any way of knowing _that_ , since Harry was never one to give details of his personal life unless asked.

Harry and his father went back inside to find Lily already cutting the meat- tearing would have been more accurate- into small pieces , perfectly rationed so they'd last as long as possible.

She left out three pieces- one for each of them- and put the rest in the small clay container used for meat storage. And then, once they'd eaten, Harry decided it was time to share the good news.

"So, son, how is work? It seems the Riddles are treating you nicely," said his mother.

"Oh yes," affirmed Harry. "As a matter of fact, Tom had me informed just yesterday that, as of Monday- two days from now- I shall start work as his personal attendant."

As he expected, his parents were thrilled, his mother going to hug him and kiss his cheek and his father giving him a hearty pat on the back.

"This is splendid Harry! At the rate things are going, we'll have our fortunes restored in no time!" his mother exclaimed.

James gave him another pat on the back.

"Good job, my boy! Now, let's celebrate!"

Harry smiled. This was what he wanted. As long as his family was happy, he was willing to put up with Tom's manipulation and Voldemort's fits.

As long as they were happy…


	4. Chapter 4

XXxxXX

Sundays.

They were both the best and the worst days of any week. That was one of few things the Riddle brothers could agree on.

But whereas Voldemort attended church (to pray for sight and mental stability), Tom chose to stay home. He never liked the church to begin with, and he liked Father Dumbledore even less. And of course, he would've preferred it if his servants had stayed with him, but most of them were devout members of the Church of England, and it would've been horrible of him as their master to deny them their religious sermons simply because he did not share their beliefs.

This being said, both he and Voldemort were aware that Harry often took Sundays off for church- and that might have been part of the reason Voldemort attended the services- and Tom decided, since Harry would serve him personally tomorrow, it was only fitting he give him a surprise- and possibly meet the Potters his father had despised so- before his work actually started.

.

.

 _ **XXxxXX**_

The carriage ride was long and uneventful, even though the driver- Tom never bothered to remember his name- had insisted it was only a few minutes. Not like Tom really cared. As long as he was able to visit his favorite servant, he could almost call the day spent.

Both he and his elder brother were dressed in black, and while that suited both of them, it somehow stood out more against Voldemort's paler complexion.

They entered the church silently and sat at the front, feet away from the altar.

As Father Dumbledore took his place before the church, Tom allowed his gaze to wander. In the back were the poorest people. That was where Harry should have stood, and yet…

He was off to the side of the altar, in the choir. So he sang? That was certainly interesting.

With a wave, the choir began singing the hymns used for the Mass, their voices blending in perfect harmony, but to Tom, Harry's clear tenor voice stood out above the rest.

And it was beautiful.

.

.

 _ **XXxxXX**_

Unfortunately for Tom, Harry lost himself in the crowd following the service, and as a result, Tom was not able to see him or his parents.

And so Monday arose.

Harry, having been warned by Lucius Malfoy, the head of staff, was sure to have Tom's morning tea ready for him- black, as always- by 7:00 in the morning. Softly, he coaxed his master out of bed and bade him drink, and had him ready and presentable by 7:30- a new record, supposedly, as Tom was not a morning person.

That day, Harry thought himself lucky that Tom had no meetings scheduled. His thoughts were changed, however, when Tom insisted that Harry escort him to his parents' home. He argued that his servant was much too thin, and that it was his job to see that he was treated well, and Harry, finding no flaws in that, conceded to show Tom his home at the outskirts of London.

Just as he'd expected, Tom was appalled by the poor living conditions- though naturally, he didn't show it, Harry detected it in the air around him.

There wasn't even a wooden door for them to knock against, so Harry invited Tom inside and led himself in.

It being 9:00 in the morning, Lily was inside patching up a blanket, not expecting her son for at least that evening- perhaps longer.

And so she was, of course, surprised to see her son so soon, and with an obviously older man at that. No doubt this man was one of the Riddles her son was under the employment of, but why he would visit her downtrodden shack of a home was beyond her. So, at least for now, she decided not to question it.

Treating this with an air of normality, Lily went to embrace her son.

"Harry, my boy! I daresay I hadn't expected you home for at least a fortnight!"

Her speech, Tom noted, was eloquent and practiced, much like his own- much like the typical manner of an aristocrat.

Of course, he'd known the Potter family to be wealthy, but he was sure that Mrs. Potter had started off as a mere scullery maid. Perhaps she'd been educated upon marriage? But it was not his place to ask.

"Will you and My Lord be staying for supper?"

Tom's brow raised. Supper? It wasn't yet time for _lunch_ , let alone supper!

But the last thing he wanted was to appear rude. He had a reputation to maintain outside the manor, after all.

So instead of asking after lunch- not that he needed to, in hindsight, upon seeing the state of the house- he bowed courteously and brushed his lips upon her knuckles.

"We would be honored if you would allow us."

Lily blushed a rosy pink.

"I-in that case, I'd best start preparing right away! Please, make yourself comfortable, My Lord- Harry will tend to you!"

And with that, the matron of the Potter house goes into the pathetically small kitchen area, and Harry and his master were left alone in the equally pathetic living space of the Potter family hovel.

XXxxXX

The next few hours consisted of Tom asking Lily- and James, too, when he came home- about their personal lives. And so, by suppertime, having gathered all that he needed to know, Tom made his decision. But he had the courtesy to wait until after supper to announce his plan.

But he would start subtly.

"Quite delicious, Lady Potter."

The red-haired woman blushed a lovely pink and bowed her head in humility.

"Oh no- surely, my cooking is not at all like what you'd be accustomed to, My Lord."

"Indeed. I daresay not even my personal chef has impressed me thus as you have. T'would please me greatly to savor this sort of meal every day."

Catching on, Harry sent his master a curious look while Tom smiled charmingly and Lily's blush deepened.

Tom decided to stop skirting it.

"James and Lily Potter, in three days' time I will see to it that you are both under my employment and guardianship in the House Riddle."

He left before they could even begin to process his words, beckoning for Harry to follow and smirking as the boy obediently left his mother's side.

No doubt his father was turning in his grave. Not like Tom cared. He'd always despised the old fool- favoring and coddling Voldemort simply because he was older and delusional, and perhaps the man was mentally ill himself, as he seemed to loath Tom while not one other person could even speak ill of him.

And that Tom Riddle Senior hated the Potters was just another reason to invite them into his home. But of course, the primary reason was to see his personal attendant properly taken care of.

As they returned to the manor, Tom told himself that it wasn't concern for Hadrian that drove him- that it was simply so he wouldn't be seen as an abusive, negligent master. But he was smart, and knew better than to lie to himself.

He was a master smitten with his servant. A male servant who was well younger than him.

Thrice forbidden, and all the sweeter for it. And that Voldemort was also infatuated with the boy was the icing on the cake.

Now, it was just a matter of getting his boy to stay by his side. And no matter the means, Tom would see to it that Harry wouldn't leave him- not for anything in the world.

And no God nor Death Himself was going to stop him.


	5. Chapter 5

**XXxxXX**

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.

 _Tick-tock_

 _Tick-tock_

 _Tick-SMASH!_

The clock shattered under his hands, and for that small instant, Voldemort forgot about his accursed mortality. But then the blood started flowing, drip drip dripping from the small cuts on his hands, and he was reminded then that he still had so much to do and so little time in which to get it done.

He had to get out from his brother's shadow.

He had to eliminate the half-bloods.

And most importantly…

He had to make Potter his.

 **XXxxXX**

The next day, Tom was busy, having a meeting with some corporate owner. And for some reason or other, he had no need for Harry's presence. But the boy wouldn't complain. Those meetings, if the _one_ he'd attended was anything to go by, were dreadfully dull and boring.

And this meant he'd have an hour of time to himself, at most.

Of course, he had no idea what to do with that time, but that hardly mattered.

He briefly considered visiting his parents, but decided against it. They were likely busy, and possibly even stressed, as a result of his generous master's "offer"- if it could even be called that- from the night previous. Besides that, it was a bit of a walk to get to the old shack, and he'd have to leave almost as soon as he arrived if he wanted to get back in time to serve Tom. It would be quicker to just go to the market.

Actually, that didn't sound like a bad idea. Sure, Harry didn't have any money- all of his earnings had gone to his family- but there was no harm in looking.

So, after noting the time in his head, via the pocket watch he'd been given at the start of his service, Harry exited the manor through the servants' entrance and headed down to the market.

 **XxX**

The market was relatively crowded, as it was always at any given time. But there was enough room for Harry to at least glance at the different stalls and shops. There was Mr. Borgin, who sold antiques. His partner, Mr. Burkes, sold old books just next door. There were a few clothing shops, and an outdoors merchant selling racks of colored silk. Mr. Snape was selling potions, and Ms. McGonagall was dealing in furniture and other housekeeping items.

Then there were the Weasleys.

Molly sold sweets and other baked goods.

Bill and Percy served under Cornelius Fudge, the minister.

Charlie helped take care of dragons.

Fred and George made toys, and worked as street performers on the side.

Ginny and Ron were too young to do much of anything besides help their siblings- though Ron had only to wait a few more months, where Ginny had to wait a whole year more.

"Oh! Harry dear! Come, come and visit!" Molly called out.

Speaking of the devil, Ginny, eager as always to see him, pulled on the sleeve of his coat and tugged him to Molly's stall. Harry let her, and went along with her movements, careful not to accidentally mess up his coat- any damage would come out of his pay.

"Hullo Mrs. Weasley," he greeted politely once he was in front of Molly.

"Good morning dear. I trust Lord Riddle has kept you well?"

"He has," answered Harry with a smile.

"I've recently become his personal attendant."

At this, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley smiled. Things were finally looking up, it seemed.

"Well now! This calls for a celebration, I believe! Fred! George! Grab the cake from- yes, that's it," Molly cut herself off as the twins worked to get the large cake down from atop a shelf. Once it was down, Molly instructed her twins to grab Ron and force him to participate.

But one glance at Harry's clearly expensive clothing sent Ron in a fit.

"Harry!"

"What is it, Ron?"

"You're becoming one of _them_!"

"'Them'? What on earth are you talking about?"

"You know! Hmph! Think that you're better than us now that Lord Riddle's decided to court you!"

"Ronald Weasley! Hold your tongue! You have no right-"

"I have _every_ right, mum! You know what that bastard's done to us!"

"Watch your manners, Ron!"

By this point the conversation was mostly between Ron and his mother, and Harry, not wanting to seem rude, politely excused himself.

He had hoped that his old friend would be happy for him, and prayed that the redhead would see reason one day.

But he supposed it was a good thing Ron had acted out of turn. If he hadn't, he would've lost track of time, and then he'd be late returning to the manor, and that most certainly wouldn't do.

 **XxX**

He returned with just enough time to straighten himself out before the meeting ended and Tom demanded his presence for tea-time.

And it was at about as Harry seated himself across from Tom- per his master's request- that things began to go downhill.

The oaken doors creaked open, and there was a sudden wind chill.

"Brother."

Voldemort's voice was like ice- but not the kind that would crack under his walking stick: rather, the kind that was so thick it could never crack.

"Voldemort."

Tom was cordial- a contrast to his older brother's icy demeanor.

"Why is Potter with you?"

The envy was especially audible.

"Because he is my obedient servant." Harry got the feeling that Tom was rubbing it in his brother's face. Unbecoming, and yet, also expected.

"No. As your older brother, I demand you relinquish his services to me."

Tom sipped at his tea, the movement giving the impression of nonchalance while his eyes remained calculating.

"And what would you do if I refused? After all, Hadrian is _very_ important to me."

A cool, slender hand grasped at his under the table, and Harry almost pulled away at the spark of possessiveness in that one simple gesture.

"Then I'd kill you and take him anyway."

A ghostly hand settled on the back of his chair, and Harry felt even colder than he had the last two minutes.

Tom smiled coyly.

"Perhaps we should let him decide. After all, two masters arguing over one servant is hardly efficient when one can force the servant to make a choice."

As both men turned their attention to him, Harry paled, nervous beads of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. To choose one would mean ignoring the other, and both brothers had absolutely horrid tempers, especially when they didn't get what they wanted.

But if they both wanted him…

"My Lords…I believe…I believe it would be in our best interests if the both of you agreed to share my services."

In this way, they would both be able to spend time with him, and- hopefully- neither of them could squabble over it.

Tom's smile appeared to brighten.

"An excellent idea, Harry! What say you, brother?"

Voldemort appeared to consider the idea, and the tension seemed to slowly vanish.

He sighed.

"…Very well."

Voldemort left without further comment, and Tom looked triumphant.

And Harry was hoping that he hadn't just unwittingly worsened matters between them.


	6. Chapter 6

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Somehow, it was already close to Easter.

The staff was busy preparing for the arrival of Harry's parents, Lucius ordering them around like a general. But of course, there was more to it than that.

As Tom had informed him that morning, the arrival of Easter meant there'd be a ball held among the nobility. And this year, Tom was nominated- by Father Albus, of all people-to host it this year.

This also meant that Tom would need someone to escort. And since his skills with women were…lacking, at best, he was regrettably single.

Or, he was until he told Harry exactly what his role would be in the evening's festivities.

And so, Harry was sent out to visit Madame Malkins to get a dress.

The shop was small and crowded, but at the same time very colorful and lively.

There were many racks and rolls of varying fabrics, designs, and colors, and Harry couldn't help the awed sound coming from his mouth.

"Oh? Oh, yes- you must be Hadrian!"

A woman's voice sounded close to him, and a firm hand pulled him into what looked like a back room.

"I'd recognize those eyes anywhere, you see! My, my, Riddle mentioned that you had the most exquisite eyes, and I daresay he is NEVER wrong! No, do sit tight and I'll fit you into your dress quickly!"

She left him on a stool and returned after what felt like an eternity with a bundle of black fabric in her arms. She lay it out on a table, allowing Harry to look at it in its entirety.

It was a black satin dress that flared out at the hips. The hem ended at his knees, but a layer under that ended at midcalf, and under that, a layer ended at his ankles. The layers were edged with white lace and green bows. A green bow wrapped around his torso and tied at his chest, pinned in place with a silver rose. The sleeves puffed around his shoulders and were then tied off with green bows, before they flowed out past his fingertips.

"There you are, dear. And beneath this, you'll be wearing a petticoat, and the top here-" she lifted it to show him the back of the dress, where it laced up "-is a corset. I'll help you on the day of the ball, so you'll be in good hands, Mister Potter."

She gingerly bundled up the dress and set it in his arms. Harry stood up and gave her a grateful smile. Heaven knows he'd never be able to choose a dress himself, much less dress up in one.

Madame Malkins ushered him to the door, giving off a cheery aura as she did so.

"Farewell! I hope to see you again!" she called as Harry stumbled out of her shop.

The Easter ball would certainly be interesting….

 _XXxxXX_

Harry escorted his parents to the Riddle manor early the next day, before it was even time for him to wake his master. The walk was long, but silent. Harry didn't mention his falling out with Ron- since his parents and the Weasleys were friends- and he didn't mention that he'd become the personal attendant to both Riddle brothers rather than just Tom. And that was more so he wouldn't accidentally upset his parents.

They arrived at the manor with minutes to spare, so Harry left his parents in their room with a hasty goodbye and instructions to meet Lucius before he went to fetch Tom's morning tea, thanking God that Dobberforth the chef- or Dobby, as he preferred- had already brewed it for him.

By the time he entered Tom's bedroom, it was 7:05.

"My Lord. It is time to wake up."

He spread open the curtains slowly so the sudden light wouldn't bother Tom too much, and all the while he was aware of the man's gaze on him. A small part of him took pride in that, but he quenched it down as he poured a cup of tea- Lavender, this time- and set it on Tom's bedside table.

"Breakfast today will consist of buttered scones, deviled eggs, and your choice of jam or marmalade, and to drink, black tea." Harry recited dutifully as Tom crawled out of bed, his long legs hanging over the sides.

"Hm." Indifferent in the mornings, as always.

"…Dress me."

The order was simple, and Harry rushed to obey. Within minutes, he was tying a neat and tidy black bowtie around the neck of Tom's white collared shirt. It matched perfectly with the green and black pinstriped suit adorning his figure.

As the boy stepped back to exit, Tom took a hold of his wrist, his grip tight and only mildly painful.

"I trust you understand your role for the day, Harry?"

He nodded, and Tom continued, as if he hadn't noticed.

"As my personal date, you are to be at my side for most of the ball. You may dance with whomever asks- it is dreadfully impolite to refuse a dance, after all- but you will save the last dance for me. And I forbid you to have contact with Voldemort."

Harry withheld a surprised gasp. He hadn't quite been expecting such strict rules- though in hindsight, he supposed he should've.

"Understood, My Lord."

"Very well. Now, leave me be. I have work to do, and I will call should I require your presence. I trust you will inform your…parents of tonight's arrangements. Dismissed."

Harry exited the room with a mixture of dread and elation. Tom had come across as possessive, just as he had days before, and while that thrilled some small part of him, another part of him was terrified.

But he had no time to ponder it further as a bell rang in his ears, high and somewhat shaky. It seemed Voldemort needed him. Not that he was surprised.

Biting back a sigh, Harry quickly made his way upstairs to the room of his other master, not at all surprised to see the older man already dressed. What did surprise him was the walking stick he held in his hands. He never used it unless he was going out, and that in itself was a rare occurrence.

"My Lord?"

"I have business to attend to, Harry, and you're coming with me- that's an order." He made it sound as if Harry would refuse, and the boy almost laughed. Instead, he settled on a small smile, aware that it would go unseen.

"Of course, My Lord."

 _XXxxXX_

The streets were more crowded than they had been earlier that day, but Voldemort navigated through the throng with ease, and Harry tried hard to keep up with him. It was a feat only barely managed, as Harry was carrying various boxes in his arms, and couldn't afford to drop even one should someone bump into him.

Harry didn't see exactly what Voldemort bought, but that was fine. He knew better than to pry, even more so than to judge.

But of course, it was inevitable that something would happen.

A large, scruffy man accidentally bumped into him. The boxes were sent flying, and Voldemort, unaware amidst the usual marketplace noises, didn't even notice.

Someone grabbed Harry's arm, and he felt a hand clamp itself around his mouth. He felt himself getting dragged away before his brain could properly process what was happening. Once it did, however, he fought as hard as he could. He clawed at his assailant's arms and kicked at his shins, ignoring how doing so forced his hips to turn awkwardly. It wasn't until he bit his captor's hand that he was finally released.

And then, without looking back, Harry ran. Voldemort couldn't be too far, surely.

He ducked into the crowd, losing himself in the mass of people. The boxes that he'd been holding earlier were probably destroyed by now, along with their contents.

Thinking of how upset Voldemort would be resulted in a guilty pang in his chest. But since he hadn't been able to look at exactly his master was buying, there was nothing he could do.

 _XXxxXX_

 _Slap!_

"You _LOST_ them!?"

His cheek stung terribly, and he could already feel a bruise developing. But Harry kept silent. He knew better than to speak out of turn, especially when his master was already upset.

He bowed onto one knee and Voldemort gave him a piercing, sightless glare before turning around.

"…Come, Harry. We're going home."

His voice was deathly calm, boding no room for argument.

Harry stood up and trailed behind Voldemort as he stalked out of the dingy alleyway he'd found him in, wondering how he'd conceal the blossoming bruise on his cheek as the rhythmic tapping of his master's wooden cane kept the silence at bay.

The walk home was tense, and Harry just knew that if Tom found out about Voldemort hitting him, then things would get worse. But he couldn't hide it- not without help.

Luckily, Madame Malkins brought her makeup bag with her, and after she'd gotten Harry dressed up for the ball, she'd been sure to use a good amount of concealer to help him hide the bruise. She didn't ask about it, and for that, Harry was thankful.

"Now, before I send you off, do you remember how you'll be expected to behave tonight?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Very well. Now, off you get."

And with that, Harry left and entered the ballroom.


	7. Chapter 7

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The ballroom was spacious and elegant in its simplicity. The floor was wooden and covered with a large red carpet. The walls had actually been painted over rather than covered with wallpaper- a minty green color with silver swirls and black borders. The windows were left uncovered , the grey and black drapes tasseled off to let the full moon shine through. Across from the entryway was a set of dark brown French doors that led out to the balcony.

On the octagonal floor many old men and women- and some children- danced, dark tailcoats and rainbow dresses and pale petticoats swishing about with every movement.

And in the center of it all was Lord Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Both Riddles were dressed in matching black suits, with grey waistcoats, green ties, and white button-down shirts that were always too tight. Tom had a silver rose brooch on his lapel while Voldemort had a white one. While Tom was in the center of the room speaking with the other nobles, Voldemort was in the corner, ignored and nameless except in passing.

Until the doors creaked open, and a familiar set of footsteps passed by his ears.

Tom stopped in front of him, unable to tear his gaze from the suddenly effeminate boy before him. Those green eyes he'd come to know and associate with Harry seemed brighter than ever, framed by thick, feathery lashes and surrounded by pale skin. His normally unruly hair, already fairly long, was tamed with a green and grey hairband which matched the dress- the dress _he'd_ chosen for him-perfectly.

Harry curtsied, and for a split second, Tom wondered when and where he'd learned to curtsy without stumbling. Then he bowed in response, low, and took Harry's hand, whereupon he lightly brushed his lips across his knuckles.

"My Lady. Would you honor me with this first dance?"

Dark eyes peered up into emerald green, silently daring him to refuse. Harry blushed lightly in spite of himself and nodded.

"'T'would be an honor, M'Lord."

"Perfect..."

Tom's voice displayed his pleasure, and Harry tried hard to fight down the burst of emotions as he was lead to the center of the room.

And then they were off, dancing and twirling with the other guests in a perfect 1-2-3-4 rhythm.

There was no idle chatter between them as there was between other couples, so concentrated was Harry on _not_ trampling his Lord's feet.

And then, just as he was getting used to the movements again- his mother had taught him to waltz and didn't know the lead part- the song changed and they had to step into another dance. This next dance was unfamiliar to Harry, but it was easy enough to follow as long as he reminded himself to mirror Tom's movements.

Voldemort went out to the balcony.

That dance, too, ended, and Tom gently pulled Harry with him to the long table set against one wall. There was a small group of nobles at one end- Harry recognized the Blacks (and especially his godfather Sirius) and also Bellatrix and Rudolphus Lestrange- and perhaps, on another day, he would've despised most of them. But they were the only familiar faces besides the other servants and the masters of the house, and they were in the way of the treacle tart, and my didn't that sound pleasant right now!

His nerves were getting the better of him, but Harry reminded himself that as far as everyone else was aware, he was the obedient woman on Tom's arm, and so he was able to play the part again.

From their place off to the side- and how dreadfully boring it was there, too!- Lily and James watched Tom Riddle carefully. Well, Lily watched. James was busy trying to come up with what to say when Sirius came up to them- as he inevitably would- and also wondering just where Harry went off to. As a servant, he'd be there, too, of course.

Lily was wondering the same thing, of course, until her green eyes caught sight of a woman dancing with Tom. Those raven locks she'd recognize anywhere. And thus, her worries were put to rest. But she wouldn't tell James that. He would have difficulty believing her, and she secretly enjoyed seeing their son like this.

She closed her eyes and sighed. Things were better this way, she knew, regardless of what Harry- er, _Harriet_ \- decided to do.

XXxxXX

And so, the night drew to a close.

As he did every night, Harry helped Tom prepare for bed. They both knew that Tom was easily able to get himself ready for bed, but the older man secretly enjoyed Harry's hands on his body, and thus hadn't ordered him to stop.

The man lay down silently, the barest hint of a smile on his handsome features as he closed his eyes and took Harry by surprise, grabbing his gloved wrist. He was still in the dress he'd worn for the ball.

"My Lord…?"

"Hush, Harry. Allow me this, for but a few moments."

It might've been the wine talking, or perhaps not. But Tom was a little bit intoxicated, and so Harry indulged him.

"…Of course." Harry's eyes shone brilliantly in the moonlight as he kneeled beside Tom's bed, enjoying, for a bit, the warmth of his hand.

Neither of them really knew how much time had passed, but eventually, Tom fell asleep, and only then did Harry dare to pull his hand away and leave the room. His other master would still be up for a while yet.

Harry blew out the candle on Tom's bedside table and quietly left the room. Maybe he'd still have time to change into something more comfortable?

He made his way to his quarters, but was stopped in the hall as someone cleared their throat.

"Ahem- pardon me madam, but I must insist that you take your leave."

Harry turned and saw his father in a nice black suit with gleaming silver buttons.

He blinked, unused to seeing him in such attire.

"Dad? Don't you recognize me? It's me, Harry. Your son."

Now James was the one blinking.

"Beg pardon?"

"Tom had me pretend to be his escort to tonight's party," Harry explained, "and I only just got him to bed. May I change now?"

James nodded, taken aback, and Harry continued on his way.

Upon entering his room, he realized that at this hour, there probably wouldn't be a point in changing unless he wanted Voldemort to see him in his nightclothes.

He changed regardless, into a white collared shirt and black trousers. Something he could stand sleeping in while also keeping to the professional clothing standards for all members of staff.

As if waiting specifically for him to finish, the bell from Voldemort's bedroom rang out.

With a sigh- because he had hoped to have just a bit more time to himself- Harry left his bedroom and went to the secondary study, where Voldemort awaited his presence.


	8. Chapter 8

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The doors to Voldemort's room creaked open. Unlike every other set of doors in the house, the hinges on these were not as immaculately oiled, and it was no secret that Voldemort preferred them so. It was easier, like this, for him to hear when someone entered.

And enter someone did. Not just any someone, but his new personal servant. Hadrian was a quiet boy. A _good_ boy. Oh, what fun it would be, if such _goodness_ joined him in his world of _darkness_.

Thin lips curled into a smile as muted footsteps approached him cautiously. Oh, yes, he'd almost forgotten about that…

The pale man waved it off.

"Dress me, Hadrian."

"Yes, My Lord."

Soft hands quickly unfastened his dress coat and gently slid it from his shoulders before doing the same to his waistcoat.

Thin fingers undid his tie with a practiced precision and quickly slid it from round his neck before those same fingers undid his shirt, sliding that off, too.

His black trousers were undone, leaving him in only his undergarments.

He could physically feel Harry slip away from him for a bit before he felt the silken fabric of his nightclothes brush against his shoulders. Voldemort obligingly slid his arms into the appointed sleeves and allowed Harry to button up his front. Cool fingers just barely brushed against his chest and his throat tightened.

Robbed of speech, Voldemort stood, half-naked, and used Harry's boney shoulders for balance as he slipped into his trousers.

Harry stepped back, just a couple steps, and straightened his posture.

"Is there anything else, My Lord?"

Voldemort thought for a moment before answering, in a manner that was somewhere between full-hearted and half-hearted.

"Kiss me."

"My Lord?" That voice held an air of cautious inquisition. He decided to elaborate.

"Was I unclear? You've been all this night with my brother, so grant me this one, at the very least!"

He kept his voice level, but towards the end he caught sight of an elf- damned creature!- and accidentally snapped.

"As you wish…"

That soft, subservient voice carried with it a tinge of guilt, and if he listened right, he could hear a bit of wry humor shining through. But he understood the possibility of his corrupt mind playing tricks on him was also high.

Muted footsteps drew closer to him, and small hands cupped his cheeks with a tenderness that the owner surely would've possessed had they been holding a chick. And then slightly chapped lips brushed against his in a chaste kiss, and the innocence in the act was almost palpable.

The feeling left almost as quickly as it came, and an unbidden feeling of loss welled up in Voldemort's lips. He wanted that warmth- that innocence and softness- to stay with him.

"Good night, My Lord."

And Harry left before he could say a word more.

The doors shut with an ominous creak, and Voldemort settled into his bed. When he awoke the next morning, he briefly toyed with the idea of demanding a goodnight kiss every evening.

 _XXxxXX_

The next morning, the manor was abuzz with gossip. Everyone wanted to know who the mysterious "Lady Harriet" was, and why she was with the younger Lord Riddle all night. Naturally, they couldn't just ask.

"I hear she's the daughter of a French business partner!"

"Perhaps she's a _mistress_!"

"Oh, how scandalous! I bet whoever she is, Lord Riddle will get rid of her soon!"

"Ohohoho!"

"Hush, ladies! Such petty gossip is _quite_ unbecoming!"

The young maids scurried off at the sound of Lily's authoritative tone. They didn't know who she was- who she used to be (they were too young, after all), but perhaps if they _had_ , they would've been more careful. Back then, everyone knew Lily Evans- ne Potter- absolutely _hated_ gossipy maids.

Sighing at days long gone, Lily adjusted her hold on the broom. It didn't look like those maids were coming back any time soon, so she decided she may as well clean up this area on her own. It would be better for everyone, lest Lucius punish them for an uncleansed carpet.

 _XXxxXX_

Tom very rarely drank. As a result, he rarely ever got hungover, but when he did, it was unpleasant for everyone. He didn't drink enough to induce vomiting- for which Harry was secretly grateful- but he was snappish.

"Hurry up and dress me, Potter."

He did so quickly, silently. He'd seen hungover bums before, and quickly surmised- on previous witness-experience- that any excess noise would only make his master more irritable. He didn't even bother reciting the day's breakfast menu, and instead just handed Tom a cup of blue lotus tea. He sipped it carefully, unused to the taste, and felt exponentially better afterwards. His migraine had subsided, and he felt noticeably calmer.

"Thank you, Harry."

Harry bowed and took both cup and saucer from Tom's hands. "Of course, My Lord. Will that be all?"

"Yes. Meet me in the study in two hours."

"Yes, My Lord."

He left, bringing the dishes with him.

 _XXxxXX_

"I'm going out."

"Shall I accompany you, My Lord?"

"Naturally, Harry. I have business with the potions master. I trust you will assist me."

"Of course, My Lord."

 _XXxxXX_

Harry never enjoyed visits with Severus Snape. Part of it was because the man loathed him and his father, and was only afraid to show it around Lily, whom everyone knew he absolutely adored as much as he hated Harry and James.

It was fortunate that Tom saw someone else for such things.

Horace Slughorn was a jolly sort of man, and Harry just _knew_ that he'd be good with children. How on Earth he got along so well with Tom was anyone's guess.

"Oh! Lord Riddle- what a pleasure it is to see you again! How may I be of service?"

"Snake venom, please. And an anti-contusion cream."

Slughorn easily handed him a phial of a yellow-ish liquid and a small container of an off-white paste, and accepted the small pouch Tom slid over in exchange. Then, Tom handed the two items to Harry, who held them carefully in his hands.

"Come along, Harry. I still have more errands to run."

Tom didn't mind using his nickname in public, and every time, Harry was left wondering. Was it a display of power? Of the intimate relationship between master and servant? Or was it just on a whim? He supposed he'd never understand, and left it at that as he stuck closely behind his master.

 _XXxxXX_

They stopped at the church, and Tom put a firm hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Stay put. I'll just go to have a chat with Father Dumbledore, and I shall call on you only if I have need. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, My Lord."

Tom seemed to struggle with something for a split second before he abruptly turned and strode into the church, leaving Harry in the courtyard.

 _XXxxXX_

Draco Malfoy wasn't generally an unlikeable person. He was the son of the head man of Riddle's estate, and that was all there was to it. He didn't much care for either Tom or Voldemort, either way. Nor did he care a great deal about the Potters, who'd once owned the place. However, once he'd gotten wind that the Potters' son had become Tom's personal servant- and in a household like that it was impossible _not_ to find out sooner or later-he'd taken it upon himself to make friends with the boy.

How else did Tom know to get cream for that bruise?

And this was how he'd ended up there. Part of it was to make sure Tom held up his end and kept Harry safe- can't very well befriend a dead man, after all- and part of it was to run an errand for his father.

The blond clutched both parcels close to his heart, as he would a deeply held secret.

He'd followed his instinct and bought a little something extra with the change he'd gotten from his purchase, and now that it was time to give it to its intended recipient, he was suddenly apprehensive. He forced it down and entered the church courtyard. Malfoys don't get nervous. That was a fact of _life_. Especially concerning silly little items like this.

"Afternoon, Potter," he greeted smoothly. The boy, startled out of his wits, turned to face him.

"O-oh goodness! Hullo Draco," his voice was cheerful, albeit a little bit shaky, "what brings you here?"

"Oh, nothing at all, really. You just looked a little bit…lonesome. Did Lord Riddle abandon you, after all?"

Harry shook his head. "Oh no- he's just talking with Father Dumbledore. That's all." His tone was a tad defensive, and Draco decided to lay off a little.

"Hm. Well, now that you've mentioned it, I suppose…there _is_ something I've been meaning to take care of…"

 _This is it…_

Draco presented one of the parcels he was holding, practically thrusting it into Harry's arms. The other boy noticed it was soft, or at least malleable.

"Don't you dare open it till you're in your room- or else there'll be consequences!" Draco warned in a hissing manner.

Harry nodded.

"Understood."

Draco caught sight of the doors opening, and quickly scurried off. Tom approached Harry with a questioning look, and didn't even need to speak for Harry to explain.

"Draco gave this to me. Said not to open it till I'm inside."

"I see. Very well. I'm spent for the day. Let us return to the manor, Harry." He started walking off, and Harry silently and obediently followed.

 _XXxxXX_

That night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Harry quietly opened Draco's gift to him.

It was a silvery cloak that shimmered brilliantly in the moonlight creeping through his window.

He made a mental note to thank him later.


	9. Chapter 9

The church, when not in service, looked older and more decrepit than it actually was- though that was probably on account of how little light there was in the place.

Father Albus was knelt before the cross at the altar when Tom entered, the door creaking behind him in a way best described as threatening. After the last service- only a couple days ago- he'd requested to speak with him a while, and it was time, Tom supposed, to give him his answer.

"Lord Riddle…to what do I owe this visit?" asked the priest. As if he didn't know.

"Father Albus, such a pleasure it is to find you here- and right when I intend to speak with you! How convenient! Surely the Lord is in our favor today!" Tom responded. Two could play at that game.

"My child, have you come to confess?"

Tom laughed, his voice, like silk, gliding throughout the church like a bridal gown.

"Of course not Father! I am and will be forevermore a demon of the worst kind, and nothing will ever put an end to that."

He spoke casually, confidently- with the air of one who is positively certain of their fate and perfectly happy with it. And, in a way, that might not have been far from the truth.

"Hush with such nonsense, child! Those who confess and give themselves unto Him shall always receive redemption, and be seen as good in His eyes!" Father Albus said, insistent. Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes and kept his charming smile in place.

"Perhaps. But I have no desire for redemption. And, even if I had such, it has no bearing on my coming here."

"Then, pray tell, why _are_ you here?"

Tom answered quickly, eager to have this discussion and leave.

"In regards to our discussion last Sunday, I have come to tell you: no. I will not stop. And by the time I'm satisfied, he and I shall be just as damned, and will have lost all desire to return to the light. _That_ is your answer."

At this point, he was halfway down the aisle, and began striding back to the door.

"As that is all which bears my saying, I shall take my leave. Good day, Father Dumbledore."

"Fine! Go then, child! Perhaps God will have mercy on the boy's soul, and redeem it of your manipulations!"

The doors opened and closed again, their ominous creak ringing through the church like the toll of a bell announcing a funeral, and Father Albus Dumbledore was left to his own thoughts.

 _XxX_

The next morning, Harry woke up a little earlier than normal to apply the bruise cream to his face. The younger Lord Riddle was so kind as to purchase it for him, he may as well use it. After all, it just wouldn't do if people thought the Riddles treated their servants badly.

Once that was done, he quickly got dressed and went to wake his masters. Since he'd essentially gifted himself to both of them, this particular chore had become more difficult, since Voldemort's bedroom was in the very back of the mansion whereas Tom's was closer to the front.

As usual, getting Tom up was a relatively easy task, but Harry couldn't afford to stay long. Tom had a meeting scheduled right after breakfast with some business partner or other, and the boy knew that he had no business in such matters. He recited Tom's schedule for the day and then left him to his breakfast while he went to wake the elder Riddle. As he'd expected, Voldemort was already awake and dressed for the day, as he was by this time every morning.

Harry felt a little bit guilty for things turning out this way, but at this particular moment, the most he could do was swallow it down and move on. Like most days, Voldemort didn't have much planned out, so there was nothing for him to recite. Not even the breakfast menu for the day- though that was unchanging, regardless (Porridge, sweetened with brown sugar and mixed in with the medicine Voldemort was to take once daily).

So, Harry was left to his own devices for the next hour, at least.

He thought about helping his parents, but that would've likely resulted in someone (probably James) getting distracted, and he wasn't going to risk that.

Hmmm…what to do…

 _XxX_

He decided to visit Flourish and Blott's. Supposedly there were good books to be read there, and he wanted to see for himself if that was the case.

There were many volumes and anthologies, and numerous copies of the Holy Bible, and a few children's books. The shop was, aside from the two men at the counter, empty, not that he expected much else. Not many outside the nobility cared for reading- not that they would have had time to, even if they did.

"Hello Mister Potter! Come for a read-in?"

The storekeepers were kind men, and after his family lost their fortune, would allow him to stay in their shop and read.

"Not today. I would like to purchase a book for a friend."

Flourish- as he called himself- leaned forward. "Aaahhh, so _that's_ how 'tis, eh? By all means, look around as much as you like. I'm sure this _friend_ of yours will certainly appreciate our selection!"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Elders….

Shrugging his shoulders, he glanced through the shelves, eventually settling on a book of fairytales. He had no idea if Draco would even _like_ this sort of thing, but if nothing else it would give him something to do.

He paid for the book (apparently he'd been granted a discount) and left the shop feeling pleased with himself.

There was still time before he had to be back at the manor, but there wasn't much left for him to do outdoors, so Harry decided to return early.

While walking along the dusty cobblestoned street, he started as someone ran into him.

"Oh pardon me- Harry!? What are you doing dressed like that?"

That voice…and that _hair_ …he had trouble recognizing at first, but…

"Hermione? Is that you? It's been _ages_!"

"Quite. Now, what are you doing dressed in such expensive clothes? Last I'd heard you were living off of _cabbage!_ "

"It's…a rather long story…but I suppose, to put it shortly…" he spoke nervously, and not even he knew why. It's not like he and Hermione had never spoken before. It'd just…been a while. He hadn't even known she was back in town.

"I've gotten a job…"

"Well, obviously. But what job requires you to dress like…like _that_?"

"Well…see…that's….that is to say…I'm working for the Riddles!"

Hermione looked at him agape.

"Wha…? But…But Harry! They're the ones who forced your family into poverty- for goodness sake the elder son tried to _kill_ you! Or have you _forgotten_?"

He knew she was worried for him- he could hear it in her voice- but he couldn't stop the snappish tone that'd entered his voice.

"Of _course_ I haven't forgotten, 'mione. How could I?" he said, his voice low. "And that's partially _why_ I'm working for them. To earn back that money for my parents."

She shook her head.

"Oh, Harry…you could've just asked to stay with us- we still have room. Why don't you just quit and stay with my family?"

"I couldn't do that, Hermione. I'd feel…rude. And I doubt either of them want me to leave, anyhow."

Hermione looked at him questioningly, then decided she'd rather not know what that meant.

"…Promise you'll find time to at least visit."

"Hermione-"

" _Promise me_ , Harry."

"…Alright. I promise I'll try and visit. Where would I find your house?"

Hermione smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Towards the edge of town. My parents practice dentistry. You'll not have trouble finding them. Good day, Harry." She walked off, breezing past him like a leaf in the gentle Spring breeze. He returned to the manor with no further interruptions, and found Draco scrubbing the floor in the foyer. It was an odd, but not unsurprising sight.

Harry stood to the side and patiently waited for him to finish before going to get his attention.

"Hello, Malfoy."

Startled, Draco only stiffened before turning to face him.

"Potter." That was as much a greeting as Harry was going to get, and they both knew it.

"I want to give you something- to repay you." Harry held out the book, wrapped in parchment, and Draco curiously took it.

"How do I know this isn't some trick?"

"Why would I want to trick you in such a way after you've helped me?" asked Harry, incredulous, "no doubt that cloak will serve me well. Least I could do is buy you something in return- though," Harry gestured for Draco to open it, and he tentatively did so, "I'm not entirely sure it's to your taste. I had hoped that you could look at it more in your free time…"

He trailed off, suddenly unsure. What if he thought it too childish? What if he couldn't even read it? What if-

A bell tinkled, and Harry knew he was needed. He turned and made to leave, only to freeze as Draco called him.

"Potter."

He stiffened. "Yes?"

A moment of hesitation. "…Thank you."

Flabbergasted, Harry wordlessly exited and went to the study, where Tom was surely waiting for him.


End file.
